


Call a Cab

by merryghoul



Series: Suzanne Costello: Life is All [9]
Category: Luther (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Attempted Murder, Community: casestory, F/F, Gunplay, Knifeplay, Murder, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/pseuds/merryghoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a serial killer emulating a hoax emerges in London, John Luther reluctantly seeks help from Alice Morgan and Suzie Costello.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call a Cab

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [h_marchosias (on AO3) for the art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/445812) and pollyglump (on InsaneJournal) for the beta.

  


  


John Luther rubs his eyes. The woman the police arrested and sent to the Serious and Serial Crime Department, a Suzanne Nisha Costello, looks just like Zoe Luther, down to the beauty marks on her face. Suzanne is probably younger—she appears to be around the same age when Zoe died—and she has longer hair than Zoe, or at least the last time John saw her alive. Suzanne also has a penchant for dressing in dark colours, A-line skirts and high heeled boots. But if Zoe and Suzanne were in the same room and tied their hair behind their heads, they would look like twins. Thing is, Zoe didn't have any siblings, and if she did, she didn't tell John before she died.

John had Suzanne put her fingers in a scanning device. Before he went into the interview room, he looked at Suzanne's fingerprints, well before the rest of the department could match her prints to the prints of the person who murdered Mollie Kelly and Jennifer Carroll outside of a nightclub in Whitechapel. Her fingerprints didn't match Zoe's. They were two different people, possibly with different sets of DNA, and yet they looked alike.

"Well? Aren't you gonna interview me or not, _DCI Luther?_ " Suzanne grins.

Suzanne and Zoe even sound alike. They both have the same West Country accent.

"I'm sorry. I keep thinking you're my dead wife. I want to call you Zoe, but you're not Zoe. Zoe's dead. I paid for the funeral, saw her body in the coffin and buried her. And now the police arrest you, and you look just like Zoe, except you call yourself Suzanne Costello."

"Call me Suzie. Everyone calls me that. Rolls off the tongue."

"Okay, _Suzie._ You were supposed to be arrested for the murder of Ronald Adair, the attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes, who supposedly never died, and a few other deaths spanning several years, but the police threw out the charges after the evidence was mysteriously tampered with."

Suzanne shrugs. "Not my fault those policemen were incompetent. I heard they fired a PC Raina White for tampering with the evidence, but, in my opinion, the rest of the officers handling that case should be fired."

"You know me already. I'm DCI John Luther. I have a few questions for you."

"Okay."

"You know why the police arrested you, right?"

"For being a wealthy Asian living in a hotel."

"That's not why they arrested you, Suzie. Last night, two women—Mollie Kelly and Jennifer Carroll—were murdered in Whitechapel."

"I have no business with Whitechapel, DCI Luther. I think you're stereotyping me in with the people who actually live there, come to think about it. I'll have you know my lawyer is very good at suing people and getting some of them _fired._ "

John shows Suzie photos of the women's bodies. "There were reports of someone in the Whitechapel area that matched your description. The person was described as being 5'8", wearing boots and a trench coat. You were the closest match in the database for this person."

"What the hell would I be doing in Whitechapel?"

"Stalking young women with a hammer and hitting them in the head until they died."

"What? Where did you get the daft idea that I like to stalk women with a _hammer?_ I don't even care about hammers. I like knives."

"Knives?"

"To slice things up. And I like to make things, but I'd never use a hammer."

"That's funny, because the murderer used a knife to slice the ankles and knees of the Whitechapel victims."

Suzie leans forward on the table. "I was in Mayfair last night, DCI Luther. I was in my hotel room. Tucked the daughter into bed and spent time with my partner. I can call her and have her bring in my daughter. That's my alibi."

"Who's your partner?"

Suzie gives John the phone number of the Westbury Mayfair, where she lives and the suite she lives in (room 799). "Ask for Alice Morgan and tell her to bring my daughter Emily."

John covers his face in his hands. Not only does this woman look like his wife, she's in a relationship with Alice Morgan. John thought Alice left London a long time ago after he helped her escape Bethlem Royal Hospital.

"I'll have someone call your suite, Suzie."

Suzie puts her right leg on the table. "Oh, the boots, yeah. Ralph Lauren. Had to order them from the United States since the UK doesn't have them in stores. No blood on them, DCI Luther. And there's no blood on my trench coat. I'm very careful to _not_ get blood on my trench coat. Vivienne Westwood, just like my former boss loved to wear. That's part of my alibi, right? Right?"

John still has his face in his hands.

Twenty minutes later, a redhead and a toddler walk into the interview room John and Suzie are in. John can't believe his eyes. The redhead really is Alice Morgan, and the toddler bears a strong resemblance to Suzie. The toddler has a lighter skin colour than Suzie, but both Suzie and the toddler have black curly hair and light brown eyes. The toddler also has arching eyebrows, similar to Alice's.

"Hello, John. I thought I'd never see you again."

"Alice. I thought you wanted to see the world."

"It's a long story, John. We'll need a cuppa to talk about it. Suzie's made sure I can stay in England without going to Bethlem again."

"I like companions, John. I hate to be alone. I can't lose Alice. I've already lost Jim."

"Who's Jim?"

Alice puts a finger on her lips. "It's a secret."

John gets up from the table. "Suzie, I'm letting you go. But before I do that…" John walks to the toddler and squats in front of her. "This is your daughter, right?"

"My name is Emily," the toddler says.

John stands up and turns to Suzie. "I can't believe someone like you could produce someone as cute as Emily."

"She's lucky. She could've ended up looking as ugly as my bastard father."

The actual murderer of Mollie Kelly and Jennifer Carroll is fitting himself into the legend of the Halifax Slasher. The Halifax Slasher never existed in real life; instead, various people in the town of Halifax in November 1938 feigned some injuries and caused self-harm to themselves to create other injuries. The result created a fictional attempted serial killer who was fond of knives and hammers.

The Halifax Slasher was an example of mass hysteria gone wrong. Unfortunately for Whitechapel, the murderer emulating the Halifax Slasher's crimes is very real and, as of this moment, uncatchable.

According to Margaret Kelly, one of the real life alleged victims of the Halifax Slasher, the Slasher wore a 'dirty Mackintosh.' The Whitechapel Slasher's Mackintosh, covered in blood and other bodily fluids, fits Kelly's description of the Halifax Slasher's Mackintosh. He's also wearing brown boots with buckles, distressed by a fashion designer rather than through normal wear and tear. And, for posterity's sake, the Whitechapel Slasher's wearing a clear plastic mask. To those not paying attention, he looks like a very fit 70 year old man.

The Whitechapel Slasher is stalking another female victim down India Street. He notices her black hair swaying in the night. He sneaks up on her and grabs her waist. Before she can scream, the Whitechapel Slasher takes a Bowie knife and slits the throat of the female victim. The Whitechapel Slasher lets the woman fall to the pavement. The blood-covered Bowie knife goes back in its holster. The Whitechapel Slasher takes out his hammer. It's an engineer's hammer; both sides of the head are the same length and width and are flat at the ends. The Whitechapel Slasher bashes the skull of the female victim until there's a sizable hole in her head. He steps in some of the victim's blood as he makes his getaway without knowing it.

The Whitechapel Slasher cleans his shoes in a bathroom. He takes a bus to the Tower of London, throws the hammer over Tower Bridge and catches a taxi away from Southwark.

BLACK HOLE

  


Radio says there's a  
murder in Whitechapel  
again. Throat slit this time,  
head bashed in.  
AM

The same person I've  
been accused of being.  
SC

Can you give John a  
visit? AM

Why wouldn't I do that?  
SC

  


Later that evening, police cars illuminate the street the Whitechapel Slasher's victim, identified as Keira Field, was murdered on. Police have turned over Keira's body to take photos of and examine the slash on her throat. John is there on the scene, examining Keira's body and the blood splatter. Suzie walks up to the murder scene.

"Excuse me? DCI Luther?"

John turns around and faces Suzie. "Suzie…"

"Are you busy?"

"Yes, I'm busy. You know, listening to the radio and acting upon cases is illegal."

"DCI Luther"—

"If I'm going to be seeing more of you, you may as well call me John."

"John, I was just in the neighbourhood for once. I happened to be lucky, that's all."

"That applies to people texting you about murder cases."

"Well, if Alice helped you out in murder cases, she can help me out in murder cases."

"Alice…"

"She's wonderful, isn't she?" Suzie extends her hand to John. "I'm Suzanne Costello. Criminal for hire. Specialties are stealing, identity theft and murder."

"We already met, Suzie."

"No, I'm just offering my services."

"Right now? At a murder scene? You're distracting me from my job and telling me you've stolen things and killed people at a murder scene?"

"Yes."

"This confirms it. You're not my wife. She's not this batshit crazy."

"I wouldn't want to be your wife, anyway."

Suzie pulls a business card out. The card reads:

  


CLEARED FOR ENTRY

ADMIT ONE TO THE COSTELLO-MORGAN RESIDENCE

25 JUNE 2013

MUST HAVE THIS CARD PRESENT

ALL VISITORS WITHOUT A CARD WILL BE REMOVED FROM

THE PREMISES AND POSSIBLY MURDERED  


"I had this just in case you were too busy right now. Room 799; someone should take you there. I'll be seeing you."

Suzie walks onto a few streets, vanishing into the night.

A few people at the murder scene glance at John.

John sighs. "That was my wife's twin sister, Suzie Cornell. She just moved to London from Bath. She was in the neighbourhood and she wanted to say hello. Thank you, and please go back to work."

The next day, during his lunch break, John goes to the reception desk at the Westbury Mayfair.

"Hello. I'm here to see Suzie Costello and Alice Morgan."

"How do you know Miss Costello and Miss Morgan?" the receptionist asks.

"Why do you need to know that?"

"Security protocol."

"I'm a DCI. I don't need security protocol to go to an occupant in a hotel. Where is Alice Morgan?"

"I still need to know how you know Miss Morgan."

"I'm friends with Miss Costello and Miss Morgan, okay?"

"Sorry. I have to call someone to"—

John shows the receptionist the card Suzie gave him the other night.

"I'll have a porter take you to 799."

The receptionist calls the porter. The porter leads John to Suzie's penthouse suite on the seventh floor. John knocks on the door of 799.

Suzie opens her suite door. She's wearing a black satin bathrobe. She's naked underneath, and her nipples are poking out underneath the bathrobe.

"Should I come back later?"

"No, no, we've got time," Suzie says. "Just wanted to freshen up before you got here. Alice and Emily are by the couch. When I get dressed, we'll conduct our business meeting from the veranda."

Suzie leads John into the suite. As Suzie mentioned, Alice and Emily are in the living room, by the couch. Both are sitting by a table, where Emily is colouring in a colouring book.

"John, we were expecting you. We were talking about biting. I was telling Emily not to bite her friends. Suzie, on the other hand, needs to learn you don’t bite your friends."

"I told you to stop watching _Yo Gabba Gabba_ with Emily. I will bite you while we're fucking if I feel like it. John, we'll discuss terms on the veranda while Alice looks after Emily when I get dressed."

Suzie steps in her bedroom. John sits beside Alice the best way he can. Emily looks at John attempting to sit down with Alice and her.

"Emily, this is John Luther. He's a detective."

"Not Doctor Watson?"

"No, not Doctor Watson. This is a different John. Say hello to him."

"Hello, Detective Luther." Emily goes back to her colouring book.

"I thought you were going to see the world after you escaped from Bethlem," John says.

"I changed my mind."

"How in the hell did you end up here? This place has to be over a thousand pounds a night."

"£2,750 a night, depending on tourist season. I used to stay in a suite that was about £400 a night. She was always my sugar mummy."

"Sugar mummy? You mean, like a sugar daddy?"

"But female, yes. I didn't want to know her, John, but she got to know me. You know I've been using Zoe's name on passports and whatnot, with your permission, of course. She also wanted to use Zoe's name and identity on passports, since she looks like Zoe. And no one's going to suspect a lawyer separated from her husband of murder instead of, well, Suzie Costello. Last year she hacked into a computer and she saw my face attached to the name she wanted to use. She wanted the name for herself, so instead of hiding out from the cops in London during the Olympics, she flew to Ixtapa to take the name back."

"Hiding out from the cops?"

"She attempted to kill Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, right."

Alice nods. "Anyway, she befriended me at a bar at in a hotel and drugged me—put some Ambien in my drink. When I woke up, my arms and legs were tied up on a hotel bed. She told me she'd done something like this before—drugged a man who looked like her old Torchwood boss and took patches of his skin off, letting him bleed to death. I screamed when I first saw her."

"And you can casually talk about this in front of a toddler."

"I know what Mummy's done," Emily says, not looking up from her colouring book.

"Emily's always known about her mother's tendencies. And she knows about mine. As long as Emily keeps it a secret in front of other company, we don't mind."

John scratches his head. "I'm glad I don't have kids. I couldn't be parents like you. You mentioned Torchwood. Isn't Torchwood that government agency that was destroyed back in 2009?"

"It is, but Suzie faked her death so many times in Cardiff her old boss thought she was dead. We scared him a while back. That was a bloody mess."

John rubs his face. "I really wish you didn't do what you do, Alice."

"I do it well, John." She winks. "There's also some woman she used to work with, but she's somewhere in Wales. She shouldn't be a problem. Everyone else that used to work there is dead. Died on the job, Suzie told me.

"Back to Ixtapa. I really thought Zoe Luther had crawled out of the grave or faked her death to enact revenge on me, but when Suzie said 'I'm not Zoe bloody Luther, I just want her name' I knew it wasn't Zoe. Zoe didn't curse that much. That is, unless you've seen a side of her I haven't seen. I'm sure you have. You were intimate with each other once."

"Yeah, Zoe wasn't ever like 'bloody bloody cocks cocks.' She let loose a few curse words in bed, but nothing like how Suzie speaks. And how in the hell did you get out of that bed?"

"She kept going on and on about feeling lonely. I told her how people called me a freak. We talked and we learned that we had some things in common. We both believe that most lives are meaningless. We also went to Oxford at the same time. She was a grad student and I was a freshman. We were in different colleges—she went to Keble College for engineering and I went to New College for physics—but she remembers me doing interviews I did when I was there. She never thought she'd ensnare a fellow Oxford grad. And then she put down her knife."

"She took you back to London."

"She wanted me to babysit her daughter while she took care of business at first. Then she made me her second-in-command once she figured out a way to use my talents. And then we started getting intimate."

John stares at Alice. "I thought you had a crush on me."

"I did, John, but that was years ago. I moved on. You chose your job over me, the same way you chose your job over Zoe. Suzie came along and things started happening. Now I'm madly in love with her. You did prove that there is love in the world to me, after all. And you knew I had these tendencies, John. Suzie's awakened something inside of me—a desire to live, a desire to love, a desire to fuck. And I love it."

"Well, as long as you're happy, Alice, I'm happy for you."

Suzie, in her usual outfit, walks out of her bedroom. "John, I'm ready. To the veranda."

John gets up from the table.

Emily waves at John. "My mummy's a hero."

Alice grins.

John and Suzie sit at a table on her veranda.

"How do I start? It must hurt to lose Zoe. I heard about the murder. She really didn't deserve to die the way she did."

There's a pause between them.

"That was a bit awkward, wasn't it? Emily. We can talk about Emily. Emily'll be three on July first. She's Mummy's little pride and joy."

"She's adorable. Right, I'm here because you gave me a card."

"I'm going to make this brief. About a few months ago, I decided to give up hunting down someone that made me mad for months."

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, Sherlock. Emily and I had a change of heart. I decided to be a consulting criminal, but not like Jim was, no."

"Who's Jim?"

"It's very hard to explain. He was real, and he died, but at the same time, he wasn't there. He was just like me in a way. I exist, and yet I don't exist. But I want to live. He was ready to die."

"So Jim's an enigma?"

"You could call him that. Jim Nygma. But I don't want a large network of minions. The business is Alice and I. People come to Alice or me and Alice and I will fix it for you. And I need to know in advance. Alice and I take shifts checking up on the Bagatelle Club. We can come in the afternoons and make sure everything's running smoothly instead of at night, for instance."

"Alice and you own a casino."

"We make good money running it. Cards, a dining room and a lounge. Helps keep us in the penthouse. Good thing I had a little bit of cash after Jim died to set it up. Plus, more time with Emily. We're not too keen of nannies now. They don't think like Alice and I do, and I'm afraid they might squeal. It would make things a bit messier."

"You want me to hire you two to help solve this murder."

Suzie nods. "We're criminals for hire."

"No, Suzie. This is a criminal investigation. If you two interfere, you'd get arrested."

"I made two promises when I created this job—since there only was a consulting criminal before me, and my only other counterpart is a consulting detective. I made a promise to Alice that she'd never end up in Bethlem ever again, and if she did, she has my permission to end her life there. And I made a promise to Emily. I'd never leave her alone. I don't want her to end up as screwed up as I am, always looking for companionship and dreaming of killing me. By my promises to my family, by my word, we'll be careful. We won’t get arrested."

"I'm sorry, Suzie, but no. My team and I can solve this murder."

"You know that Whitechapel bastard's going to strike again. You'll need my help. You'll regret this."

John stands up. "Goodbye, Suzie." John leaves the veranda.

"Goodbye, Emily."

"Goodbye, Detective Luther."

"Goodbye, Alice."

"Goodbye, John."

He leaves the suite.

After John is gone, Suzie walks into the suite and sits beside Alice and Emily.

"Do you need John's mobile number?" Alice asks.

"No. I'll find him, once the time is right."

So far, the Whitechapel Slasher's gone after people in the Whitechapel area that didn't live in the area. This time, he's going for a local man—a Bengali youth.

He sneaks up on the young man the way he did his female victims, down another street in Whitechapel. This time, it's Saint Mark Street. The young man tries to fight back, but the Whitechapel Slasher is able to grab his Bowie knife and stab him in the liver. The young man clutches his bleeding abdomen as the Whitechapel Slasher cuts the young man's ankles, enough to disable the tendons in his feet. For good measure, the Whitechapel Slasher also cuts the young man's knees.

The young man bleeds to death as the Whitechapel Slasher slits his throat with the Bowie knife. When he finally stops breathing, the Whitechapel Slasher walks away.

Little does the Whitechapel Slasher know there's an off-duty taxi in the area, and it's been following him. The taxi belongs to a patron at the Bagatelle Club. While Suzie's at the casino, Alice is driving the taxi around, making sure the only lights on in the taxi are the dashboard lights. Emily's asleep in a car seat in the back of the taxi, covered in a black blanket. Alice spots the Whitechapel Slasher walking away from the young man's corpse. Alice texts Suzie.

  


BLACK HOLE

  


WS is wearing the usual.  
He's also got a Bowie  
knife—white and brown  
handle. Has to be the  
murder weapon. Stop.

Emily's safe. We're  
coming to the Bagatelle  
now. Police radio's on  
me. Get ready to text  
John. AM

My thumbs are ready. SC

  


John's team identifies the victim as Debashish Rahman. Much like the other victims, he wasn't involved in criminal activity; he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. After the victim is identified, John gets a text on his mobile:

The Colonel

  


I have ways of figuring  
out how to contact  
anyone in this city. If  
you're listed, I can find  
you. I learned it from  
Torchwood. I know it's  
illegal, but I do it anyway.  
My offer still stands,  
John. We have a bit of  
information you might be  
interested in. No charge  
for my services. Alice will  
pay for you.

Col. S.N. Costello

Present this text for entry  
to the Westbury Mayfair  
27 June 2013.

"Torchwood?"

John tucks the mobile back in his pocket and goes back to work.

The next day John goes back to Suzie's suite. Suzie greets him at the door and the two sit on the veranda.

"Alice spied on the Whitechapel Slasher. Have your people found any remnants of the Whitechapel Slasher's handle on any of the victims?"

"No, Suzie."

"Are you sure?"

Suzie pulls out a piece of paper. It's a photocopy of a webpage with a Bowie knife on it.

"Not even the smallest bit of red deer antler? Maybe a little bit of cowhide?"

"You know, Suzie, come to think of it, the last three victims did have a few pieces of red deer antler on them."

"Were your people working on it?"

"I think they were."

"This has to be the weapon. A Bowie knife that's 10 inches long. The handle's a red deer antler handle, probably white and brown in colour. That should narrow your search down a bit."

John gets up from the table. "Thank you, Suzie."

"You didn't ask if Suzie could fix your problem."

"I don't need your help, Suzie. You can jeopardize this case."

"I just found your bloody murder weapon, John Luther! The least you could do is let Alice and I help you. You've done it before and you can do it at least one more time."

John clears his throat. "I'm trying not to yell because we're on a veranda at a high-end hotel, but I am not going to ask you to fix my problems by saying 'Suzie, fix everything that's gone wrong in this Whitechapel Slasher case for me!'"

Suzie reaches in to her pocket and pulls out an iPhone. She places it on the table and presses the home button. The phone cocks. John stops talking.

"I know Alice and you are good friends, but I won't think twice about putting a bullet in your brain. I've done it before. Maybe this time it'll be fatal."

"What is that?"

"A mobile gun. .33 millimetre. Works in short ranges but is very effective. I made a version of it for my boss and I keep a modified version with me at all times. I don't click the lock button first for everyone's safety."

John sighs. "Okay, Suzie."

"Repeat after me: Suzie, can you fix this Whitechapel Stalker case for me?"

"Suzie, can you fix this Whitechapel Stalker case for me?" His voice is flat.

"It's done. As I said earlier, no charge. Alice will pay."

John leaves the veranda, but stops short of going inside the suite.

"If you don't mind me asking, how is Alice going to pay for this case?"

"It's a very carnal, sensual payment. What? You thought I'd throw her off the veranda or shoot her in the head or something? I couldn't do that. Who's going to toss that gorgeous red hair all over my body?"

After John's able to verify the knife's handle, he looks up Harry Rowley's knife shop on Google. Harry's site showcases various types of knives, from Bowie knives to pocket knives, ranging from £25 to £350.

His search pulls up an English knife enthusiasts' forum. One of the forum posts, written by "HorrificLakeDrool," catches John's eye:

  
_Harry Rowley is a fucking conman. He claims his knives are made in the UK. They're not. He has his knives made in the United States and he imports them to his "shop" in Westminster. I'd have no problem if he says his knives are made in the US—my God, we see a lot of imported knives here—but he's claiming his knives are handmade in his shop. If anything, he's probably on his lazy arse polishing his imports instead of making knives._  


  
_He's been doing this for five years now. He's used various names prior to setting up his "shop" on the hunting weapons circuit:_  


  
_Harry Rowley_  


  
_Henry Rowley_  


  
_Max Lyons_  


  
_Christopher Manning_  


  
_Kieran Rowe_  


  
_Kian Bates_  


  
_Thomas Barnes_  


  
_Leo Howe_  


  
_Zachary Mackenzie_  


  
_Ethan Franklin_  


  
_He's even attempted to peddle his shit wares on EBay, Gunbroker and some other online weapon sites under these usernames:_  


  
_Evilbrood_  


  
_EvilBrood?_  


  
_Hunterseek_  


  
_TrackerTrack_  


  
_Trackkkkk1_  


  
_BrainBrood_  


  
_ClawCraft_  


  
_CraftyCrawcraft_  


  
_Harry_Rowley_  


  
_hRowley_  


  
_HRowley145_  


  
_Maxie_Lyons_  


  
_MaxieLyons_  


  
_MaxLyons_  


  
_Fine by me if you want to seek him out, mate, but you're gonna get burned, and once you do, it's not my fault. I warned you._  


John prints the forum post out and folds it in his pocket.

John leaves his office for his lunch break again. This time he's going to Harry Rowley's knife shop on Victoria Street.

Although the shop is small, the walls are lined with knives of various sizes, from pocket knives to Bowie knives. Harry Rowley also sells hatchets. Some of the knives are displayed on the walls, but most are in display cases lined made out of walnut wood. Harry Rowley is at the sales counter when John is inside. He's wearing what appears to be vintage hunting gear, save for red John Varvatos boots, distressed by the designer rather than from wear. Harry appears to be 50 years old and well-built for a man of his age. He's balding, but his hair's still a light brown.

"Good afternoon, sir. Are you planning a hunting trip soon?" Harry has a Mancunian dialect. He may live in London now, but he's originally from Manchester.

"No," John says. "Maybe in the future, but not right now. I heard you have some of the finest hunting knives in Westminster."

Harry nods. "I do. I also sell equipment for people interested in bushcraft. If you want to live like Bear Grylls, I'm the person you're looking for."

"Yeah, I have no interest in drinking my own urine any time soon. I'm going to try and pack enough water with me, mate. I wanted to come by your shop and see some of your weapons up close. Like your Bowie knives."

Harry goes to the display case with his Bowie knives. He pulls out the display box and takes it back to the register. "These are all my Bowie knives. They're great for people who want to pretend to be American cowboys, but they're even better for hunters. All of them have ten inch blades. Steel blade, steel guards at the top of the hilt for all of them. This one has a cherry wood handle, this one has a stag handle, and this one is a stag crown Bowie knife. I use only red deer antlers in my knives, sir. The plain stag handle's held together by metal rivets while the stag crown has a 100% red deer antler handle. They're all £329.12." Harry smiles.

  


_We don't have cherry wood here,_ John thinks. _It would have to be imported, but Harry's made no mention of this._  


"What can I do with these Bowie knives, other than play cowboys with my mates?"

Harry takes out the knife with the stag crown handle. "Oh, it's good for stabbing and bleeding out your prey. You know, I find younger prey is more receptive to the knife than older prey. The flesh of older prey's harder to cut. The older prey, they've already gone through sexual maturity. They don't need hormones to attract prey. But the younger prey…you sneak up behind them, cut a few spots on their bodies, and they bleed out nicely. And once the blood's out, you can take your trophies home and be proud of who've you killed."

John looks around the shop. A picture of Debashish Rahman's body as well as a headshot on the cover of a tabloid is behind the sales counter. John realizes he has his man in front of him.

"I'm kinda short on cash now. I'm gonna come back and buy a cherry wood Bowie knife from you, okay?"

John leaves the knife store.

Later that evening, John sits at a bus stop near the knife store. He's trying to see if he can spot Harry's movements as he closes up his shop for the evening.

Harry doesn't come out the front of the shop. Instead, he comes out of a back entrance into an alleyway. He climbs over a fence and walks down Strutton Ground, a pedestrian-only street. The patrons hardly notice Harry walking down the street and onto Horseferry Road, near the Channel 4 offices. There, he patiently waits for a bus out of Westminster and into Whitechapel.

The Whitechapel Slasher, Harry Rowley, follows another Bengali youth down Old Castle Street. He walks behind the young man until he knows he can get behind. Harry grabs the young man, slashes his throat with the Bowie knife and lets him fall to the ground. He runs away, leaving no noticeably visible trace of his presence.

Unbeknownst to Harry, there's an off-duty taxi parked on Pomell Way, in front of a barrier. Alice and Suzie are in the taxi, along with Emily, who's quietly sleeping and hidden inside a blanket in the back seat. Alice and Suzie have been watching Harry kill this man. The taxi slowly follows Harry. Unlike John's presence in his shop—he had a feeling he was a detective—Harry doesn't realize there are serial killers in this off-duty taxi. He never looks back at the taxi following him.

The taxi follows Harry to New Goulston Street. The taxi parks in a parking lot at the corner of New Goulston and Goulston Street. Suzie steps out of the taxi and follows Harry and the woman.

Alice gets out of the car. She puts a few pillows, taken from her suite, under Emily's car seat and hides them with the blanket. She gets back into the car, this time in the passenger seat, and watches. Her hand is near the dashboard compartment just in case she needs to reach for her handgun.

Harry continues to follow the woman. They both take a right onto Middlesex Street. Harry catches up the woman and grabs her. He manages to grab his Bowie knife. Before he can slice the woman's throat, he hears a voice behind him: "If there's any killing to be done in Whitechapel today, it's going to be me, you bastard!"

Harry turns around. He sees Suzie running behind him, brandishing her knife. He accidentally knocks his mask off his face and steps on it. The woman he's attempting to kill and Suzie get a glimpse of Harry's face. Harry makes a slice in the woman and leaves her on the sidewalk grabbing her throat. Harry runs on the opposite side of Middlesex. Suzie follows him. They both run back down New Gouldston.

Harry sees Alice in the taxi as he runs for it. Alice grabs her handgun.

"This taxi is off-duty," Alice tells Harry.

"Listen, there's this crazy woman behind me. Long black hair, black trench coat, black boots. I think she's the Whitechapel Slasher that's in the papers. You gotta take me to a police station now."

Alice points the handgun in Harry's face. With her left hand, she points at Emily covered up in the blanket. "Taxi's occupied. Dead body."

Harry runs down Goulston Street as Suzie catches up to him and the taxi.

Suzie gives Alice a peck on her lips. "Is Emily okay?"

"I was able to scare him off before he could hail the taxi."

"Good. We'll need to call the police. The woman the Whitechapel Slasher chased down was cut, but she's still alive. And right now isn't a good time to be killing innocents. Hopefully if she makes it through the night we'll be paying her a visit tomorrow. _Then_ we can ease her suffering."

Alice grins.

Police examine the body of the young man Harry killed that night, Prabhat Alam, and take him to a morgue. Meanwhile, an ambulance is able to get to Middlesex Street and take the female victim to the Royal London Hospital. Through going through the young woman's wallet, emergency medical technicians discover the woman's name is Freya Elliot. Freya is treated in the emergency room and eventually put on a ventilator. Once she's stable, she's wheeled to the intensive care unit and given a chance to rest for the night.

The next day, John visits Freya at the hospital.

"The cut in her throat's deep," a nurse tells him. "If she ever speaks again, it'll take a while."

John sits beside Freya.

"Hello. I'm DCI Luther. We retrieved a mask at the scene of where who we think is the Whitechapel Slasher tried to kill you. Did you manage to see his face?"

Freya nods.

John hands Freya a hospital notepad and a pen. "I want you to write on this notepad in detail what happened to you last night on this piece of paper. And I want to describe the Whitechapel Slasher the best you can, okay?"

Freya writes about Harry grabbing and slitting her throat, a detailed description of Harry's face, and a description of the woman who chased Harry off. John reads the description. _Suzie,_ he thinks. _She's doing her job._  


John puts the confession in his pocket. "Are you completely sure that you don't want to add or omit anything from this confession, Freya?"

Freya nods.

"Thank you. With your help, we'll be able to throw this guy behind bars."

John leaves the hospital room.

A few hours later, Suzie, Emily and Alice step into Freya's room. They stand in front of her bed.

"Freya Elliot? Hello. I'm Suzie. I'm the woman that kinda saved you the other night." Suzie points to Alice. "Down here is my daughter, Emily."

"Hello."

"And this is my girlfriend, Alice."

Freya nods.

"Thing is, we—Alice and I; it would be very irresponsible for Emily to kill now—we're not usually good Samaritans. We're killers, bringing people back into the darkness, where it all began."

"As it should be," Alice adds.

"And we usually do this for pay, but we're doing this for free. For a friend."

Freya's eyes widen.

"We are death personified," Alice says. "And we won't stop until we retire or die. Or both."

"We're sorry the Whitechapel Slasher didn't kill you properly. And we're sorry we had to prolong your suffering to catch the bastard. You've met my friend John Luther, correct?"

Freya nods.

"By now he has the info on the Whitechapel Slasher and he might be able to capture him. You'll get justice, but there's a twist. We'll kill the Whitechapel Slasher ourselves. But my daughter and I, we're going to go. Alice will take care of you now."

Suzie and Emily walk out of Freya's room.

"Do you want some cookies, Emily?"

"Yes, Mummy."

"Let's find a vending machine.

Alice stands over Freya's bed. Freya panics.

"We discussed this in our car, Suzie and I. Who should kill you and end your suffering. Initially I said Suzie should kill you. But Suzie brought up a good point—she's quicker and better than I am in knife combat. I'd be better at luring the Whitechapel Slasher than I would be in combat with him. So we made a deal: she would kill the Whitechapel Slasher. She'd grab his knife and make it look like he committed suicide. Meanwhile…I get to kill you." Alice smiles. "Time for you to go to the darkness, Miss Elliot."

Alice breaks the connection between Freya and her oxygen. Alice slips out of Freya's room and meets Alice and Emily at the vending machine. The staff is more concerned with saving Freya's life than Alice and Suzie being Freya's last visitors. The three slip back onto the streets of Whitechapel unnoticed.

Before the three can drive away from Whitechapel, Suzie gets a call on her mobile.

  
_"Suzie?"_  


"John! Don't you know it's the age of texting?"

_"Official police business doesn't allow me to casually text others, Suzie. And two can play at the mobile number game."_

"But I texted you first."

_"I need you to come by the station. It was you that saved Freya Elliot's life."_

"Oh, John, about Freya…we went to visit her and she passed away this morning. I'm sorry, John."

_"Suzie…"_

"Alice came up with it. Alice did it. Yell at _her._ " Suzie puts her iPhone on speakerphone.

_"Alice…no, Alice…"_

"But John," Alice says loudly in the car, "you know what the Whitechapel Slasher looks like now thanks to Freya. You don't need her anymore."

_"She could've been rehabilitated, Alice."_

"You never appreciated anything I did."

_"No, Alice. You saved Freya's life long enough to find the killer and probably fired a few nurses today…ohhhh—"_

John hangs up.

"He's going to throw things around in his office again, isn't he?" Suzie asks.

"Maybe."

Suzie drives to the Serious and Serial Crime Unit.

John hands Suzie a sketch of the Whitechapel Slasher in the interview room.

"This is the man Freya and you saw on Middlesex Street in Whitechapel."

"Yes."

"I knew it."

Suzie looks at John in disbelief. "Do you know him?"

"I don't personally know him, no. But his name's Harry Rowley. A little birdie told me he's a charlatan. He imports knives made by others from the United States. Then he marks the prices for the knives up in his store, pretending he makes them himself. And now he's decided to kill young people, based on two factors: one, the legend of the Halifax Slasher—you know, the Mackintosh, expensive boots, Bowie knife, and two, how well their skin cuts with his knife."

"You know why he's doing this."

"I'm not telling you, Suzie. Thank you for what you've done in this case, but I don't need your services anymore. I can get Harry Rowley by myself."

"Are you sure?"

"We're going to find the guy and arrest him, Suzie. We can do it without your help."

"If you say so, John."

That night, after walking around a few blocks in Whitechapel, carefully avoiding closed circuit televisions, Harry spots his next target. She has short brown hair, is wearing jeans, and is about average height. Harry follows the woman down under the bridges over Dock Street and down Royal Mint Street.

Harry doesn't see, once again, the off-duty taxi following the brown-haired woman and him.

Suzie is following Harry in her rented taxi. Also in the taxi is Emily, once again asleep in her car seat, and the handgun.

Harry catches up to the brown-haired woman. He grabs her waist.

He stops when the brown wig the woman's wearing falls in his face. He lets go long enough to take the wig out of his face. There's a pinch in the man's side. It's from a pocket knife. The woman is not Harry's usual target; it's Alice Morgan, and she's a bit too old for the likes of Harry Rowley.

Alice's real hair is wrapped in a bun. She takes the scrunchie holding the bun together out and shakes her hair. "It's not my usual weapon. In fact, I would prefer to kill you right then and there. But that's not our goal."

Harry notices the taxi behind him. He starts running.

Alice gets back in the taxi. The two chase after Harry.

Suzie stops the taxi before it gets to Cartwright Street. Meanwhile Harry runs down Cartwright.

Suzie scoffs. "What an idiot. A residential street with hardly any cars on it and the residents don’t have their lights on. Someone knows Harry Rowley's in the area. He's about to fall into a police trap."

"But that means you won't get to kill him, Suzie."

"I will, Alice. I'll kill him. Let me out of the cab. I'll have to hunt him down on foot."

"I'm so glad we decided you'd be the one to kill Harry, Suzie."

"I know."

Harry walks down Cartwright Street. He holds the right side of his abdomen. He's bleeding, but not profusely. He stops, takes off his mask and throws it on the street.

He doesn't realize he's walking past John's car, one of the few cars parked on Cartwright. Harry turns on Crofts Street, a dead end street. John follows him, shutting his car door quietly.

Harry walks slow enough for John to sneak up behind him and grab him. Harry's strong, but he's not nearly as strong as tall enough as John. He screams out in pain, the pocket knife wound still throbbing on his side.

"Harry Rowley, I've come to buy one of your Bowie knives. £350 for the stag crown Bowie knife, right?"

"Fuck you, John Luther."

"That's not nice. I've figured out why you've been killing people in Whitechapel. You're the type of person that thinks he can get away with anything just by changing or hiding their identity. You've never attempted to make a knife or a hatchet in your life, have you?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Just answer the question."

"No, I don't know how to make any bloody knives or hatchets. I'd tell my people in Virginia to make me as many knives they could ship across the pond. I have a mailbox in Manchester. That's where I send the knives to. On the weekends, I pick up the knives. I wire any money I make from the knives to my people in Virginia."

"How much, about 75 to 25 percent?"

"More like 85/15."

Henry tries to get out of John's grip, but he can't move.

"That makes sense. What kind of conman wouldn't keep 85 percent of the proceeds? I would've taken 90 percent. You're known by a lot of fake names and user names among bushhunters and knife enthusiasts."

"How did you know that?"

"You've got a bad reputation on the internet. Someone who's been burned by you before compiled all these usernames and aliases of you on a forum. And I happened to find them while I was looking up your business."

"You set me up."

"No, you set _yourself_ up. And since you've gotten away with scamming a lot of people with your imported knives, you decided to combine your love of things of the past into killing a lot of young people in the present. You thought you'd be able to get away with the murders like you did with the knife scam. Few people get away with murders, Harry Rowley."

Harry stomps on John's right foot. It's enough for John to loosen his grip on Harry. Harry runs to the end of the street. He quickly learns that there isn't a way out of the residential area he cornered himself into. He runs past John back onto Cartwright and takes a left. John can't catch up with Harry on foot. John takes a quick rest break by his car and gets in it, following Harry off of Cartwright and onto East Springfield.

Still clutching his side, Harry sees John's car driving beside him on East Springfield. Harry starts to run.

The stoplight at the intersection of East Springfield and Dock Street turns red for John. Despite the oncoming traffic, which is forced to stop for him, Harry runs across the street. He laughs when he gets to the other side of the street, known as the Highway.

"Fuck," John says as he waits for the traffic to pass.

  


The Colonel

  


He's coming towards me.  
Start going down Virginia  
Street. Make traffic stop  
for you if you must. Oh,  
and don't wake Emily. SC

I'm ready, Suzie. I won't  
wake Emily. AM

Harry passes another block when Suzie, hiding in a bush, is watching Harry. She follows Harry. She moves as quickly as she can without making a sound with her boots.

The taxi, driven by Alice, drives down Virginia Street. She flashes the taxi's on duty light.

Harry freezes. He tries to run back down The Highway. He sees Suzie walking towards him with her knife. He tries to run up the Highway, but he sees the taxi getting closer to his direction. He decides to run down Wellclose Street.

Wellclose Street is simultaneously the worst and best place to set up a trap. It's the worst place because it's near a school. It's the best place because it's also at a dead end street. Alice and Suzie don’t care about the school. The kill is what matters.

Alice drives into Wellclose Street and blocks the intersection between Wellclose Steet and Wellclose Square. Meanwhile, Harry takes a left onto Wellclose Square, unaware it's a dead end. Suzie runs into Wellclose Square just as John turns onto the road and blocks whatever pavement is exposed on Wellclose Street.

Harry runs past Suzie and heads for the taxi. He tries to open the taxi's back door, but it's locked. Harry's jiggling of the taxi's door wakes Emily. She wiggles out of her blanket.

"I thought you were a dead body," Harry says to himself as he backs up away from the taxi.

Alice gets out of the car, handgun pointed at Harry. "I'd suggest you back up further. Suzie, he woke the little Lieutenant Colonel. She handled it very well, surprisingly."

Harry turns around and sees Suzie facing him.

John stands behind the taxi. "I told Suzie I didn't need her help anymore."

"Suzie's always had a problem with authority. If I wasn't here, you'd probably be stabbed or skinned."

"Even if I'm taller and heavier than she is?"

"She'd find a way."

Suzie still has her knife in hand. She's also wearing latex gloves over her hands. Harry stands as much as he comfortably can. He pulls out his knife.

"Surrender, you twat," Suzie says. "You failed."

"I didn't fail, Suzie. Everyone I've attacked is dead."

" _Almost._ You forgot to add that almost. One of your girls ended up in hospital. You didn't kill her. My companion with the gun and I visited her in hospital, after she got a good look at your face the other night. My companion killed her because you got nervous and were sloppy with your kill instead of what you should've done—retreated."

"Suzie and I made a mutual decision just the other day," Alice says to Harry. "We decided who'd get to kill the victim from the other night _you_ failed to kill, Freya Elliot. Simple, painless, just pull her life support and she's gone. We're experts in doing that, making people suffocate in hospital, Suzie and I. We agreed I'd be better at killing Miss Elliot. Suzie's better at being physical with large game than I am."

"It's such a lovely night, Harry Rowley. I wish I wasn't here tonight to kill you. My partner and I aren't at home with the little lieutenant colonel. John Luther would love to be home too. You're just wasting all our time by standing there _living_. Now either you surrender or I'm going to stab you over with this knife."

Harry lunges for Suzie with his Bowie knife. Suzie puts her dagger back in its holster.

"What is he doing?" John walks in front of Emily's window, blocking as much of the view out her window as he can.

"I told you, John, Suzie's better at being physical at large game than I am."

Suzie gets out of the way of Harry's knife. From behind, she pokes the stab wound in Harry's side. Harry yells in pain. It's enough for Suzie to knock the Bowie knife out of Harry's hand and grab it with her right hand. With the crook of her left arm, Suzie grabs Harry's neck and pulls him down to her height. She slides her arm down Harry's chin, enough so she doesn't cut herself.

"No..."

"Yes. I hunt like a tiger. And I do it well."

"No, no. You all double crossed me. It won't end like this. It won't!"

"You're right. It didn't end like this. Think of it this way: you came out of a void and now I'm putting you back in it. Isn't that fair?"

With one stroke, Suzie slits Harry Rowley's throat. She lets Harry fall to the ground backwards. His body on the ground, Suzie slides the knife back into Harry's hand.

John groans as he walks towards Maxwell's body.

"I'm sorry, DCI Luther, but he was attempting to kill us all. Plus, I wanted to show him how to properly slit a throat. Make a cut. Then you follow through. This is not _Basic Instinct 2._ "

The vigilante party is silent.

"Oh, come on, I'm the only person that’s seen _Basic Instinct 2?_ There's a scene where that woman walks into a bathroom in a club and Catherine Trammel cuts her throat? You two don't know about that scene?"

No response.

Suzie shrugs. "I don't blame you. Worst serial killer movie I've ever seen in a while."

Suzie opens the trunk of the car. There's a duffle bag in the trunk. Suzie gets in the trunk of the car and starts disrobing.

"Change of clothes. Don't want to get arrested for murder. I trust you'll keep this a secret, right, John?"

John says nothing.

"Oh, I'll also need a bush to wash my hair." Suzie pulls out a water bottle and shakes it. "I've got a towel in here. Don't worry."

Harry Rowley's body is taken to the morgue. Alice, Emily and the taxi conveniently disappear back to the Bagatelle Club and the hotel beside of it. As Alice is driving away from the murder scene, Emily says "Mummy killed the bad man, didn't she?"

"She did."

"My mummy's a hero."

"She is."

Suzie is taken back to the Serious and Serial Crime Unit. John interviews her again.

"Harry Rowley was upset that I discovered who he was," Suzie tells John. So he saw me walking around Whitechapel, you know, to visit a friend. He grabbed me at knifepoint and he was planning to kill me near this school with a dead end street, Wellclose Square. But I was able to fight back. Harry was upset that I could fight against him, so he took the coward's way out and killed himself. It was a very harrowing experience, and I never want to go through all that pain again."

Suzie and John don't say anything for a few minutes.

"Is this the story you're sticking to, Suzie?"

"Yes, John. This is the story I'm sticking to. I was just a good Samaritan attempting to save Whitechapel from this crazed madman who wanted to be the modern equivalent of the Halifax Slasher, that's all."

"You're free to go. Good evening, Suzie."

Suzie stands up, but pauses before leaving the room. "Is it okay if Alice and I run by Harry's shop and look at those knives? They're not being marketed as from the UK anymore. Hell, my knife's from the US."

"UK Special Forces knife. I know."

"Quickly, before the police seize his assets? They're probably going to be auctioned off anyway."

John groans. "Okay, Suzie. It's not like you think you're above the law."

Suzie claps. John sighs.

Suzie calls Alice to pick her up from the Serious and Serial Crime Unit back to their home in Westminster. It's only five minutes between the knife shop and the Westbury Mayfair on car, so Alice, with Emily gazing at the night life through the rear window in her car seat, head towards the knife shop.

Alice parks near the knife shop. The three walk back to the shop. Alice goes down Strutton Ground, hops the fence for the alleyway leading to the knife shop and picks the lock. She opens the front door for Suzie and Emily.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Alice?" Suzie smiles.

"When don't I want to do this?"

Alice and Suzie carefully walk around the knife store. It hasn't been disturbed since John visited it. The tabloid with Debashish Rahman on the cover is still behind the sales counter.

Alice finds the display with the Bowie knives in it.

Suzie walks to the Bowie knife display. "Do you want one, Alice? You seem like you're about to break into that box."

"I want one, Suzie. And then I want to give it to you."

"Aww. I mean, I don't think I'll ever give up the Special Forces knife, but I'll take it. And I'm not going to be stupid, either. I'll take the cherry wood Bowie. Harry can take his stag crown to the grave, thanks."

Alice picks the lock and takes the cherry wood Bowie knife out of the display case. She finds a sheath that fits the Bowie knife. Suzie straps it to her skirt.

"It's pretty."

"I know it is."

Suzie strokes Emily's curly hair.

"I love you, Mummy."

"I love you too. Alice, let me pick out a knife for you."

Suzie walks to a display case filled with tactical knives. Their blades are smaller than the Bowie knives. Emily follows her although she can't see the knives in the cases well. Suzie picks out a tactical knife with a cherry wood handle. Alice walks to the case.

"Do you want that one?" Suzie says.

"It's beautiful, Suzie."

Suzie picks the lock on the display case and retrieves the tactical knife and sheath from the case. She presents the knife to Alice. Alice puts the knife in her pocket. Suzie gives Alice a peck. "I love you."

"I love you too."

It takes 15 minutes for Suzie and Alice to raid Graham's Hunting Shoppe. Alice locks the jail cases back and Suzie makes sure the cases are securely locked. Everything else is left in the shop. Alice locks the back door. After Suzie and Emily leave the store, Alice locks the door back.

As Suzie, Alice and Emily are walking back to their car, Suzie gets a text on her phone. The three stop on Victoria Street.

"It's John. He left me a text. We've got time. Not like it's already past Emily's bedtime."

John Luther

  


I would text Alice on her  
mobile but I don't know  
her number. Suzie, can  
you fix THIS for me? I  
want you two to stay  
together as long as you  
can. You're a good  
mother and a good  
girlfriend. And if you do  
treat Alice badly, I'll  
arrest you as quick as I  
can and make sure you  
go to Holloway. John.

"What's his text about?" Alice says.

"Oh, he just wants us to be happy like the happy family we are. Let me text him back."

  


John Luther

John, it's not like I've

taken Alice into the  
underworld so she can be  
my miserable queen. And  
I know about how lonely  
you can feel sometimes.  
Alice told me.  
Tomorrow morning, I'll  
make sure the  
receptionist puts you on  
a whitelist. You can come  
by the Westbury Mayfield  
to see us whenever you  
can. We trust you. Do  
visit and be a part of our  
family.

With love

Col. S.N. Costello

"Come on, Alice. It's late. We all should be getting to bed."

"Is it finally bedtime?"

"Yes, Emily. It's time for all of us to go to bed."

Back at the Westbury Mayfair, Suzie does find a use for her cherry wood Bowie knife. The knife's particularly more useful when Suzie finds some rope in a closet.

After Suzie puts Emily to bed, she flashes the rope in front of Alice.

"You know what time it is."

"Payback time."

"Payback time. Time to pay for solving that case, of course. Now strip for me."

Alice does as she's told, slowly taking her clothes off and flinging them around the room.

"Lie down on the bed," Suzie says when Alice is fully naked.

Suzie restrains Alice to the bed with the rope, cutting it as needed with the Bowie knife.

Alice squirms on the bed. "This is like how we first met."

"Except I'm trying my hardest not to finger myself right now."

Alice laughs.

"It would help if you'd stop wiggling."

"I must arouse you in this state, Suzie."

"You do. And I wish you'd stop it."

"I can't turn it off."

"I'll have to fix that."

Suzie strips for Alice. Once Suzie's naked, she puts the Bowie knife under Alice's chin.

"Uh-uh, Suzie. That doesn't work on me anymore."

"I know."

Suzie takes the Bowie knife and carefully moves the knife on Alice's skin. She switches between using the cutting edge, the duller edge and the side of the knife. Alice is still, but she lets out a few gasps.

Suzie frees Alice after she's done playing with her. She climbs on top of Alice.

"Don't ever leave me, Alice."

"I won't, Suzie. And don't you leave me."

"I won't. Now, let's play."

Suzie kisses Alice, and the two let nature take over, their entwined bodies merging with the dark, at least for one fleeting moment.  


  



End file.
